A Pianist With Tourettes Syndrome

[Boater]

An out of work pianist with Tourettes Syndrome is strolling around the streets and bars of Soho one unemployed afternoon.

Walking down Dean Street, he sees a lounge bar with a sign in the window "Pianist wanted for evening performances".

'F*cking get in there you C*nt! ' he says to himself and goes to the bar. 'Get the f*cking Manager of this pigs s*it middle class w*nkhole please you c*nt', he says to a somewhat startled barman.

The barman however obliges and his manager comes upstairs. 'Can I help you sir?' he says. 'Yes you can you fat piece of s*it, I saw your'e poxy advert in the c*nting window and I'm here to audition.........w*anker.' The Manager is naturally put off by the man's abrasive manner, but his dire need for a top class pianist forces him to agree to an audition.

The first tune the pianist plays is an uplifting jazzy number, not too involving, yet utterly melodic. At the end the thrilled barman cries, 'Wonderful, wonderful. What was that called?' That song was called "Excuse me Prime minister, but I just J*zzed in your daughter's eye, and now the C*nts blind.....'

'Oh' says the manager 'err, can you play me another. Something a little less "Lively". "W*nker,," Interjects the pianist before launching into a powerful ballad which leaves the manager in tears. The Manager through his salty teardrops asks him the title.

'That little number was called "Sometimes when you do a bird up the Sh*tbox you get cr*p on your bell end.' 'I see' says the manager.. 'Have you got any songs with less offensive titles?'

'Well there's my jazz number "Do you want me to split your r*ngpiece", or there's the epic "I don't care if your older my dear, you've still got nice jugs". Look says the manager interrupting, I think you're a superb pianist but the title of your songs are a little "Racy". I will hire you on the condition that you do not introduce your songs or speak to the audience.'

'<deleted> it' says the pianist 'Why the <deleted> not'. So on his first night everything is going superbly, the crowd are lapping up his repertoire and his silence is being received as modesty.

The only thing putting off the pianist, is that in the front row there is a gorgeous blonde in a black evening dress with a split up the side revealing the tops of her stockings, and a plunging neckline which boasts a proud and inviting cleavage.

During the interval the pianist has got such a stonking hard on, that he decides to go to the bog and knock one out. Just as he has shot his muck he hears himself being re-introduced over the tannoy, so he rushes back to the stage and finishes his act.

After the show, he is at the bar relaxing when the blonde approaches him. 'Hi' she says. 'Hello' he winces, struggling to hold in the expletives. She leans over and whispers in his ear, 'Do you know your c*ck is hanging out of your trousers, and sp*nk is dribbling onto your shoes?'.

'Know it?' says the pianist putting his beer on the bar confidently, "I F*cking wrote it"